Maeve by Clayton Jo;

Author:Clayton, Jo;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2016-05-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter III

Gwynnor pushed the door open and stepped into the smoky lantern-lit interior. Several young cerdd were sitting around the fireplace arguing vehemently, individual voices lost in the noise of the common babble. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he recognized Siarl standing with his back against the bricks with Tue, Huw, Iwan, Ofydd, and Twm seated on the cushioned benches arranged in a circle around the fire.

He hesitated a minute, then walked over to join them.

Siarl saw him first. “Gwynnor?”

“Himself. Annerch, Siarl.”

“Annerch, old friend.” As the others stared, the young cerdd sidled past the benches and chairs to clasp hands with the newcomer. Siarl pulled Gwynnor into the circle. “Eh, now we’ll have some real news.”

Gwynnor shook his head. “I’ve been out of touch for awhile. What news I have, I got from Treforis.”

Ofydd leaned forward, his long face drawn into a sneer. “You went with Dylaw.”

Twm snorted. “Shut up, Ofydd. Let the man talk.”

“Man? Huh!”

“When you come up with more than some dumb carping, someone might want to listen to you.” Twm grunted. “What about Dylaw? What’s he doing, Gwyn?”

Ofydd settled back, offended.

Gwynnor sat beside Twm. “Dylaw’s bought darters from a smuggler. He plans to keep sniping at the city and raiding the starport.”

Iwan plopped his hand on his thigh. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?” He glared around at the shadowed faces. “At least Dylaw’s doing something, not just throwing words around.”

Ofydd smiled bitterly. “That why you left him, Gwynnor?”

Siarl moved impatiently. “Shut up, Ofydd. You tell us, Gwyn. Do you think Dylaw’s really making any mark on them?”

Gwynnor shrugged. “Flea bites. If he ever made real trouble, they’d squash him like a bug. You thinking of trying something?”

Tue leaned forward eagerly. “I say we should get cerdd from all over the maes and hit that damn city hard before they wreck us so bad we’ll all starve come winter.”

Eyes moving sadly from face to eager face, Gwynnor shook his head. “That’s a great idea, if you don’t want to starve. You’d all be a layer of ash floating haphazard on the winter wind. You’ve seen their weapons. You must have when they raided.”

“I still say …”

“We heard you, holy Maeve, haven’t we heard you.” The cool, sarcastic voice sliced through the fervid smoky air.

Heart beating with unexpected excitement, he stood. “Syfarch, Sioned.”

“Annerch, Gwynnor.” The girl stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, scornful eyes on all of them. “Come to hear the brave ones fight the war of the words?”

“Treforis told me about Rhisiart. I’m sorry.”

“Come have a beer with me and tell me what’s happened to you.” She ran appraising eyes over him. “You look older, cerdd.”

Gwynnor caught Ofydd’s jealous glare and smiled to himself as he left the cerdd to their arguing. “I feel older.” He sat on the swiveling stood and took a foaming mug from silent Margha.

Sioned smiled at him. Her hair was a riot of black curls. She wore a dark, baggy tunic that failed to disguise the taut ripeness of her young body.

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